


Embers Are Red, Ice Is Blue

by Neila_Nuruodo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 15:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10468431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neila_Nuruodo/pseuds/Neila_Nuruodo
Summary: Grand Admiral Thrawn-inspired poetry. Written for a class, and at the end it was the only one I was really happy with. A bit abstract.





	

I get the feeling that nothing escapes your notice.

A momentary glance slices through me and fire

Slips out of your eyes, searing me; my chest

Heaves in fear, in something else, something pure,

Undiluted _something,_ and maybe if I knew what,

You'd look again and realize I exist.

 

Or am I pining for someone who doesn't exist?

I paint this picture in my head; would I even notice

If you blew apart like smoke from a dying fire?

I've been playing my hand close to my chest,

But maybe I should just fold. This run of pure

Bad luck has worn me down, and I can't imagine what

 

It's been like for you. But you always know what

To do, pushing forward, confident a bright future exists.

You draw my eye with a gesture, making me notice

Your faint smile, your tilted head, your eyes gleaming like a fire

Now reduced to embers. Fingers steepled before your chest

And all I can think of is snow, ice and snow, cold, pure

 

And freezing me from the inside out, sealing me in the purity

Of ice, of carbonite, of I don't know what

Would you even tell me if you knew I existed?

I'm below your station anyway, beneath your notice.

They say bitter cold burns; is it a winter storm or fire

That consumes you, that takes up that space in your chest?

 

A vise holds me, a slowly mounting pressure on my chest

Because I fear there's no room for me in your heart; the purity

Of your purpose, of striving toward far-reaching goals is what

You love more than anything else, your _raison d'_ _ê_ _tre_.

But if you ever find room for a lesser love, please give me notice;

Your unexpected touch would brand me worse than fire.

 

A glance from you, a single meaningful word sets me afire;

Your regard is a knife, a shard of ice in my chest.

I turn, melt like spring, drowning in this breathless purity.

The heat of you thaws, then burns, consumes. What

Did I do differently this time? You affirm my existence,

But when I draw your eye, what escapes your notice?

 

Red blossoms on your chest, redder than any fire.

If this agony isn't purity, I don't want to know what is.

I kneel, promise never to notice that you don't exist.

**Author's Note:**

> I used the sestina form for this poem, which has six ending words reused in a pattern from stanza to stanza instead of rhyme. The last stanza, the envoi, gathers up the ending words and deploys them for the final time.


End file.
